


weren't built to stay too long

by Lina (lookslikelove)



Series: who will survive, and what will be left of them? [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Gen, lyanna who knew life was not a song and didn't care, lyannagate, the girl who should've lived forever, the life and times of lyanna stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-09
Updated: 2013-06-09
Packaged: 2017-12-14 11:44:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/836509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookslikelove/pseuds/Lina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All is right in her world. The future is far away, dark and big and not worth thinking about. Lyanna is safe and sound, snug in the embrace of her mother. That is all that matters. That is all that counts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	weren't built to stay too long

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by (slash in cahoots with) a lovely graphic that can be found here (emmanatrix. tumblr. com /post/50278994107). This more or less kicks off this sweeping modern au starting with Robert's Rebellion and carrying forward to the "present" ASOIAF universe. 
> 
> Or so that is what we're telling ourselves. We could be completely wrong on that one. Only time can tell.

**i.**

“His name is Winter and I’m keeping him,” Lyanna proudly declares when the day comes and she is found out. The pup is unkempt and in serious need of a bath as he bites at the hem of Brandon’s jeans, playfully tugging harder as the older boy tries to shoo him away.

Eight years old with wild strands of hair slipping free from the confines of the pair of French braids running down her back, Lyanna lifts her chin, rolling her shoulders back as she challenges her older brothers. Ned is his older brother’s shadow, arms folded against his chest as he prepares to back up Brandon no matter the decision. He has every confidence that Brandon will make the most just choice, even if Lyanna wishes to lure them all astray. Despite being only thirteen Brandon already has mastered the art of settling disputes before they reach their father. Rickard is a busy man and though he loves his children he knows that the sooner they learn to work their troubles out like the adults they must be, the better life will be for them.

“Lya, I don’t think— ” Brandon begins but his decision dies before it fully escapes his mouth by the sound of Benjen’s laughter.

The youngest Stark is crouching down on the ground having wooed the puppy away from Brandon and over to him, the two quickly becoming a mess of wiggling grey fur and black hair. All three older Starks look down at their brother who hasn’t laughed like this since their mother died last spring. They had missed that sound. Seven is far too young to grow somber forever.

A smile spreads across two of the faces, the worry lines still creasing young Ned’s forehead as the older trio meet each other’s eyes once more. Lyanna knows she has won, that her stubbornness has served her well and the grin that is on her face gives that game away.

Smiling despite himself, Brandon sighs and shakes his head. “Fine, but you have to be the one to tell Father. And he’s _your_ responsibility.”

Lyanna squeals, launching herself at Brandon to give him a hug repeating her thanks profusely before turning and hugging Ned as well. The older boys turn away, wiping away their sister’s kisses with the sleeves of their tee shirts as they traipse back through the brush away from the shed and back towards the game they had been playing.

“I’ll help you, Lya,” Benjen promises as Winter licks his cheeks.

Kneeling besides him, Lyanna ruffles her brother’s hair before pressing her forehead against his. “I know you will, Ben.”

The scene plays out again for their father, though this time Rickard just laughs and gives in to his only daughter before instructing her to learn all that she can about her new pet. She swears on her name that she will not fail him or her newly beloved Winter.

This turns out to always be true.

 

**ii.**

A little over a year later Lyanna follows Winter through the mud and trees back towards the shed where she had found him. He’s wagging his tail and yelping, coaxing her along as she ducks and weaves, all puffy red coat and bright yellow rain boots, not as quick that afternoon on account of the weather.

When she gets there, it takes all of five minutes for her to turn on her heel and run all the way back to the house. Leaving a trail of mud and mess behind her as she runs inside, taking the stairs that lead down to the rec room two at a time. Ned and Brandon are in the midst of an intense game of table hockey when Lyanna reaches out and snags the puck off the table. They start to yell at her, Brandon already leaning forward to use his height and age to grab it back, when she stares at the two of them.

“Come quickly! You have to come see!” Puck still in hand she turns on her heels and scurries back where she came. Unable to resume play, they give in and follow her up the stairs, finding her impatiently waiting next to their shoes. Benjen has emerged from having his own adventures, his wooden sword strapped to his back. None of his siblings ask him what he was doing. His answer wouldn’t be anything more than a shrug anyways.

 Winter is waiting, his tail wagging, when Lyanna leads her brothers into the shed. In the corner, on a bed of rags and empty sacks is the source of Lyanna’s excitement.

 “Puppies!” she declares with a grin, Winter barking beside her ever the proud papa.

 She doesn’t bother asking if they can keep them. Most are given away to friends and neighbors, the Baratheon boys taking two (Storm and Stag) to call their own. Lyanna supervises who gets which pup, taking good care of all of them until they are old enough to leave their mother.

It all makes her feel grown-up.

 

**iii.**

Rickard Stark informs his daughter that come the fall she will be attending an all girls’ school down in Highgarden. It is high time that she had a proper education, that she consorted with girls her own age, and any number of other excuses he gives. What he doesn’t tell her is that he has no idea how to a raise a daughter. This will be easier on them both. 

She responds by going quiet, staring at him with a blank expression before asking to be excused. Her acquiescence surprises Rickard, who had expected more of a fight, so he allows it.  That had been easier than he thought.

The next morning he comes down to his breakfast in the early morning light to find Lyanna waiting for him, a letter clasped in hand.

“Please read it. I’ll wait,” she instructs before going taking her seat and having her own breakfast. She tries to look like a calm, responsible adult despite eating Lucky Charms and reading the back of the box at the other end of the table.

Feeling that he should at least humor his daughter, Rickard reads the letter and is surprised to find a very carefully letter explaining to him the benefits to be had if he allowed her to stay home and attend the same day school that her brothers attend. It’s remarkably thoughtful given her age and he knows that she must have stayed up all night to compose.

He laughs then tells her that they will have a meeting when gets home in the evening to discuss the finer points of their negotiation, but at the moment he considers her points to be valid. Perhaps staying home would be better for everyone. Lyanna grins and leaps from her seat, knocking the cereal box over and sending its contents to the floor as she gives her father a hug.

She’s just glad that it worked.

**iv.**

 

The back door whips open with such force that it rattles the frame as it slams against the wall. Ned and Robert are sitting at the kitchen table, books and papers spread across. Only one of them is actually doing their homework while the other is mapping out football plays with Cheetos.

A dark and neon blur rushes past them, footsteps echoing down the hall before pounding up the stairs. The noise of a door slamming follows not too long after, a crashing noise as something hits the upstairs floor. Robert and Ned just stare at each other as Brandon emerges from the other room, shooting them a questioning look before walking over to close the door.  He startles, surprise causing him to step backwards as Benjen appears from the twilight and the mist on the porch.  The eleven year old comes into the kitchen, sitting on a chair and carefully removing his sneakers and setting them on the mat without a word.

Shutting the door Brandon turns to look at Benjen, whose clothes are stained by grass and mud, whose knuckles are reddened and who is sporting a split lip as well.

“What happened?” Brandon’s voice is a stern imitation of their father’s.

Benjen shrugs as he tenderly presses his fingers against his lip to see if it’s still bleeding. “Ask Lyanna.”

Ned and Brandon exchange a look, before Ned gets up from his seat and heads upstairs. Robert is on his heels, trying to play casual in his curiosity and failing. The door to Lyanna’s bathroom is shut and locked, by the sound of running water gives away that she is inside.

Knocking on the door, Ned calls to her through the woodwork to no avail. It takes the arrival of Brandon, Benjen in tow, telling Lyanna to open the door before they break it down to get a response. The door swings open, revealing their sister with her long brown hair messily escaping her braid and the sleeve of her uniform’s blouse is torn. She is sporting a split lip to match Benjen and a black eye is starting to bloom. From the mess around the sink she’d been attempting to clean up her knuckles that have been worn raw.

“Lya, what happened?” Ned asks stepping into the bathroom and feeling ready to turn on whomever did this to his siblings.

Brandon steers Benjen in, instructing both him and Lyanna to sit on the edge of the tub as the older two prepare to clean up the mess. Robert doesn’t even try to be helpful, opting to watch from the doorway instead.

“Some older boys were picking on Howland Reed and I just got so mad,” Lyanna explains, playing it tough as her brothers clean up her cuts. It stings; causing her eyes to water but she doesn’t cry out, merely continues to tell her story. “Benny had my back and I think we surprised them. I know father wouldn’t like it, but something just had to be done.”

Brandon nods, knowing that he would likely have done the same if it had been him that had seen this happen. “How many were there?”

Lyanna looks down at her shoes, feeling sheepish for admitting it out loud. “Five.”

“And Lya took on three of them!” Benjen chirps, grinning widely. “It was awesome!”

Ned frowns, while both Brandon and Robert laugh, completely amused by the mental image of Lyanna taking on boys who likely were bigger as well as older than she was.

“Good on you, kidlet,” Brandon congratulates and Ned wants to point out that they shouldn’t be encouraging this, but doesn’t say anything at all. “You did the right thing.”

The parents of the boys end up calling to apologize for the actions of their sons while Howland Reed shows up with a homemade thank you card. Lyanna sports the black eye with pride and isn’t afraid to say how she got it. The story outgrows her, her siblings starting to take larger roles in it, but at the end of the day she is just glad that she did _something._

She doesn’t need to be remembered for exactly what.

**v.**

**  
**The kitchen is an absolute wreck. Dishes fill the sink, batter spattered against the stove and a bit on the wall. Flour coats the counter, open containers scattered about and forgotten. A smudge of flour rests high on Lyanna’s cheek, her eyes bright as her brothers watch her. None of them want to intervene, but they know that they must. If their father were to return and see this mess then there would be hell to pay. Even Rickard Stark has end to his tolerance of what his children do when he is away.

“Lya,” Brandon begins before clearing his throat, cautious in his approach of his sister. He might be nearly a man grown at nearly eighteen, but he knows better than to underestimate his thirteen-year-old sister. The last time he did it took two weeks for the scratches to fully heal. “Lya, what are you doing?”

“It’s all wrong.” Her voice has a strained quality to it, oddly frantic and yet full of familiar steel. “I can’t get it right. I’m trying, but it’s just coming out wrong.”

Leaning against the counter, she chews on her lower lip as she pours over the recipe cards in front of her. Benjen has scooted around his brothers and over to the far counter where a tray of misshapen cakes lay spread out. He picks at one, blowing on it to cool it before popping it into his mouth. A look of disgust immediately appears, but to his credit he swallows anyways before stepping away from the sheet.

“Lemon cakes,” he explains as he returns to Brandon’s side. Benjen frowns, second-guessing his own assessment. “I think.”

Sniffing Lyanna looks up and at her brothers, tucking a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. The purple glitter nail polish on her hand is chipped, but still manages to catch the light. “I just wanted to get it right. We should have lemon cakes for her birthday.”

None of them need ask whose birthday she is referring to, the date looming on the calendar, marked both in red and by their father’s absence on an extended business trip.  Their mother lost to them for five years now, had loved lemon cakes and had made them for every special occasion.

Brandon steps in, wrapping an arm around his sister’s shoulder and giving her a playful squeeze. “Tell me what you need to try again and we’ll help you.”

“Yeah, we’ll even make the extra trip to the store if you need something,” Ned offers knowing the he won’t be the one driving since he does not yet have his license. Brandon has offered to let him drive on numerous occasions, but Ned refuses to break the rules.

With a coaxing look from his brothers, Benjen shrugs before adding his part. “I’ll taste test.”

That coaxes a smile from her, wide and easy. “Thank you,” she says before she begins to hand out instructions, explaining where she thinks she went wrong and how to get it right again.

They end up eating lemon cakes with most meals for the next three days, but none of them would trade it for the world.

**vi.**

And then there were three.

Jon Arryn stands a respectful distance away from his three young charges, keeping watch over the remaining Starks who are dressed in blacks and wintry grays. The burial is an intimate affair, as was the funeral before it. The memorial will be held in a week’s time, open to the public who wishes to mourn this tragedy. Reporters are being kept at bay, security having been brought in to provide some sort of support to provide peace.

The violent manner in which they were turned into orphans has made headlines, will fill books, be used as jumping off points to show the start of the end of an era for years to come. Rickard Stark’s murder would have been enough to cause a major stir, but the fact that his son Brandon was lost as well turns the entire thing in a media circus. The powerful Stark family had nearly been laid low, a legacy bestowed upon the shoulders of the second son who had never wanted it. The murder is unsolved, any leads seeming to vanish the moment the police head after them.

They huddle together, Lyanna sandwiched between her two remaining brothers, as they watch their father and brother being lowered into the ground.  They stand there long after the chairs have started to be packed away, after the other mourners have returned to where a small reception is being held in the great room of the Stark house. Dark circles underscore gray eyes rimmed with red. None of them speak, but simply stand there and wait.

It was too soon.

It will always be too soon.

**vii.**

 

As she sits on the bar, knees pressed against Robert's sides as she whispers that she's always kind of loved him, like in that song, you know the one. That it can be their song (or was it a movie?) and wouldn't that be nice? It's so noisy that the din almost swallows her words, but he nods along, eager to agree so that he can kiss her.  He never catches that the song she meant wasn't a happy one.

The smile that splits across her face is a beautiful one, like a full moon has broken through the clouds and Robert is certain that tonight has just been lit up. She knots her hands in the front of his shirt, using the flannel fabric to pull him closer as she presses her mouth to his. His hands grip her hips, sliding up and under her tee shirt as he pulls her closer, never wanting to let go.

Maege swats at them with a dishrag, telling them that they’re bothering the other _paying_ customers and if they’re going to carry on like that then they should take it to a booth in the back. This breaks them apart, breathless and smiling, her blush hidden by the dim light. Lyanna presses another kiss to Robert’s cheek before sliding off the bar, apologizing to Maege for the bother before grabbing Robert’s hand and leading him away. A light-headed feeling sweeps through Robert in a way that he knows has _nothing_ to do with the drinks that he’s had.

No one sees them for the rest of the night, but the hickey that graces Lyanna’s neck gives at least part of the story away. That is what results in Ned punching Robert so hard that it breaks his nose.

 

**viii.**

His music draws her in. Rhaegar doesn’t write his own, merely remixes and replays songs written by others until he cobbles together a mesh of beats that can’t help but feel intoxicating. It’s powerful stuff, giving him a reputation that his last name has nothing to do with. People are drawn to the clubs where he is spinning, dancing the night away without much thought to how every song he plays seems sadder than the last.

She’s fifteen and lovely, pulling off the cut-off jeans shorts and ratty tights layered with tee shirts and flannel shirts stolen from her brothers in such a way that draws jealousy from the most unlikely of sources.  The towering oak tree outside her bedroom window becomes her escape route, combined with roof outcroppings and the drainpipe. Jon Arryn has no idea how to raise a teenaged girl so he mostly doesn’t even try. It is her brothers that Lyanna is sneaking away from, their combined watchful gazes that she brushes off to attend parties and nightclubs, to dance away her nights to Rhaegar’s haunting songs.

It isn’t serious, or so she tells her best friend, who then relays the information to Benjen. Lyanna just likes the way he spins. It’s a music-based crush; nothing to do with the man himself and certainly nothing that she’ll follow through with. He’s got a girlfriend, for gods’ sake, and a baby on the way. This is no different from her crush on Kurt Cobain. It has nothing to do with reality.

What her friend never shares is that Rhaegar has taken to dedicating songs to Lyanna. That the two of them huddle together between sets talking in intense whispers, or that Lyanna has a blue rose pressed between the pages of a book hidden in her room.

Those things do not need to be shared.

**ix.**

It isn’t the sort of argument that others are meant to see, but Lyanna and Robert have made it practically public, shouting in front of Benjen and Ned in the living room. It had started over something simple (whose turn it was to go refill the chip bowl) and had quickly escalated from there. Now the argument has nothing to do with snack foods and everything to do with a certain Targaryen.

“You shouldn’t see him.” Robert tells her which instantly sends Lyanna to her feet, fuming.

“You’re not the boss of me. You’re not even family. Leave me alone.” And with that she storms from the room, slamming the door behind her. Robert slumps back down on the sofa, crossing his arms against his chest and refusing to make eye contact with either of her brothers. Wordlessly Ned gets to his feet and follows Lyanna out of the room.

Ned finds Lyanna sitting on the swing hanging from the large tree on the edge of their backyard. It has a face carved into it, weeping tree sap in the wet spring day. It had been carved there when they had been young, by Brandon most likely and Lyanna had loved it ever since. She looks so small sitting there on that wooden plank, hands gripping the graying ropes as Winter rests at her feet.

Rocking back and forth, her shoes scrape against the blank earth where the grass has long since given up on attempting to grow. Her gaze is fixed on some point on the horizon, seeing something that Ned can’t see even after he follows the line. A sigh escapes her before she beings to speak. “He makes me so mad some times.”

“Robert didn’t mean to upset you.” Ned’s loyalties are torn, wishing to defend his best friend and protect his sister in one fell swoop.

“He thinks he loves me, doesn’t he?”

Ned doesn’t know how to answer, can barely fathom where to begin so he settles for the honest option. It is short and hardly what his sister wants to hear, but she needs to know. “Yes. He does.”

Another sigh escapes her as she shifts in her seat, turning her head to look at him. Tears are in her eyes, making the grey of them all the more intense. Ned steps forward, wishing to comfort her but uncertain how to do that. Brandon had always been better at that, but their brother isn’t here. “He doesn’t even know me. I don’t even think he knows what love really is. I don’t.”

Another awkward step forward until he is crouching beside his sister who is staring at him with such intensity that reminds him so strongly of Brandon that it is painful. “Promise me Ned,” she pauses to reach out and rest her hands on his shoulders, no longer swinging back and forth. “Promise me that you won’t hate him when he breaks my heart. Promise me that you won’t hate me when I break his.”

Confused and caught off guard, Ned knows that he is missing something, but he is a man who takes his vows seriously. This will be no exception. So he nods. “I promise.”

Her smile is sad, tears slowly snaking down her cheeks as she leans forward and hugs him. Wrapping his arms around her, Ned knows that hate would never be an option as far as his sister is concerned. He can’t even imagine it.

**x.**

A mess of brochures litters the dining room table. Each proclaims a different location, a different future just waiting to be taken. Lyanna has only half-bothered to make some sort of order from them.  To an outsider it is chaos, but to Lyanna it is hope. There are volunteer corps to join, apprenticeships that she could take, gap year programs, and universities offering any number of subjects.

There are a few half-started pro/con lists mixed in. Nothing more than notes scribbled in shorthand that no longer makes complete sense to Lyanna despite the fact that she concocted it. Nothing can be fully ruled out, for even as she passes on one notion for another, the next day might see her decision reversed. She’d almost let her schoolwork slip if she didn’t know that many of these futures depend on keeping her marks up.

The future is messy and muddled, with so much to do that it simply becomes a question of where to begin. 

She can hardly wait.

**xi.**

The fire makes headlines.

It will be ruled an accident. Bad wiring running through a large old house, years of paint emitting toxic smoke that burned black and made it hard to see, let alone breathe. The house had gone up quickly, starting somewhere in one of the bedrooms and fanning out along the wires, eating away at everything in its path. Fire crews from six towns came to stop the blaze, but even they couldn’t put it out before it had started to spread to nearby houses, leaping along the barren trees.

There hadn’t been time to save everyone inside. Ashara Dayne had screamed and tried to break free from the paramedics treating her, yelling that Elia was still inside. She breaks down into incoherent sobs, repeating her best friend’s name. It takes three tries before they can get her to give a list of who was inside with her and by then her brother Arthur has shown up and taken over.

Lyanna is found on accident when one of the firemen is looking to see if any of the children can be found alive. Her clothes are singed, ash smudged against her cheeks as the man carries her limp form from the blaze. She looks nearly peaceful, completely calm in a way that she hadn’t been in life. The fire had not yet reached her down in the basement where she had been found, curled up next to record player, stone against her back.

**xii.**

 

No one gets to ask her what she was doing there. Why she lied about where she was going, or if she really lied at all. Was she there by choice? Or merely stopping by to drop something off, lured there under false pretenses?  

Oh why, dear Lyanna, did you not run away when the smoke filled your lungs, when the scent of ash lingered in the air? Did it happen too suddenly? Had something been done to you to make you feel safe even as the flames licked the walls?

These are the questions that get choked out in sobs, asked to the air between the shots that Robert drowns himself in. He has to be carried home from the bar for a week straight, Maege patiently calling Ned to pick him up in Jon Arryn’s beat-up station wagon. Tears are still wet on Robert’s cheeks as he fists Ned’s shirt, listing to the side as he stares at his best friend. Both men have the right to be declared broken by such a loss, but where Robert is an open mess, Ned bears his pain like a silent cloak.

 

**xiii.**

 

Ned thinks he knows, but he doesn’t have the right to put a voice to it. He only has snatches of overheard conversations to go by, no real proof. He can’t answer why Lyanna was there, wouldn’t even hazard a guess even as Robert tries to draw it of him. If Benjen knows he isn’t telling, silence falling around the younger boy, sternness in the set of his jaw. This is one last secret that both brothers let Lyanna take with her. Loyal Starks to the very end.

Ned plants a rosebush on her grave, blue roses rising out of the earth long after she should have been grown. If she could see him she would have laughed at him, reminded him of the fact that she always forgot to water the houseplants when it was her turn. She had to be reminded, even if she could remember half a dozen other things that had been one of her blank spots. But she would have kissed his cheek and thanked him anyways, telling him that they’re beautiful and just what this dreary place needs.

 

**xiv.**

Robert buries a ring under the rosebush on the night before his wedding to Cersei. He’s so drunk that he’s swaying, which isn’t the odd part. No he’s been that drunk so many times over the past few years that counting isn't worth effort.

The ring is white gold, set with small black diamonds and had belonged to his mother. The ring _should_ belong to Lyanna that had been Robert’s intention. He had carried it around with him, set on giving it to her on her birthday but he had never had the chance. So he had simply continued to carry it with him, as a token, a ward against forgetting her, a promise he never had the chance to make. 

Cersei doesn’t deserve it. Burying the ring is simply returning it to its rightful owner.

When Robert stumbles back into the hotel suite he is sharing with Ned, dirt covering the knees of his trousers and blackening his fingernails, Ned doesn’t ask why. He simply helps his friend into bed and cleans up the mess.

“Promise me, Ned,” Robert slurs, leaning against his best friend as Ned plies the mostly empty bourbon bottle from Robert’s hand. “Promise me that…”

A hiccup cuts off Robert’s train of thought as Ned gently pushes him onto the bed, unconsciousness taking over before Ned has pulled one of Robert’s shoes off.

The symmetry isn’t lost on Ned at all.

 

**xv.**

 

“Mummy! Mummy!” Lyanna yells as she runs pell-mell into the house, crashing into her mother’s skirts. The older woman laughs setting down the cookbook she was flipping through at the counter to kneel before her seven-year-old daughter. Blood has run down Lyanna’s chin, dribbling onto her jumper and already starting to dry in streaks of red and brown.

“Oh my, Lya darling, what happened?” The alarm is clear in her mother’s voice, the older woman already starting to stand once again, to scoop her daughter up and rush her to the bathroom. There’s so much blood it’s terrifying, but the lack of tears gives her pause. For her part, Lyanna is largely oblivious to her mother’s moments of anguish. A grin splits her face showing off at least one source of all that blood: her front two teeth are missing.

Holding out her hand in front of her, Lyanna opens her fist to reveal the two tiny teeth. “I won!”

“Did you?” Her mother asks taking the washcloth she has run under the tap as she starts to dab the blood off of Lyanna’s face. Lyanna squirms, attempting to wiggle away. Her excitement is still too great to be contained for even the smallest of things such as being cleaned up. “What did you win?”

“Football! Stannis was going to score, but then I tackled him and hit my teeth and Benjen scored when Robert was yelling at him.” Lyanna is bouncing on the balls of her feet, utterly thrilled with herself. It had been the little girl’s idea to turn the simply touch game into a more rough-and-tumble one. Stannis might be her friend, but she couldn’t let him win. Not this time anyways.

The older woman laughs, shaking her head slightly, but utterly unsurprised by this revelation. Her daughter might be young, but she is already an unstoppable force. “Well that is impressive,” she commends as she finishes cleaning the blood off Lyanna’s face. “Congratulations. Now, hand over that messy sweater, sweetheart, and we’ll get you a victory treat. How does that sound?”

 With an excited squeal, Lyanna wiggles out of her sweater, hand still balled tightly around her teeth. Her mother takes the newly discarded sweater and starts to stand, only to stop halfway, a grimace of pain marring her pretty features. The woman slumps, leaning against the cabinets for momentary support as she tries to shield her daughter from the look of pain. Lyanna notices, scrambling forward to wrap her arms around her mother, nuzzling her nose into the crook of her shoulder. Her mother wraps her arms around her daughter, the pain still present but somewhat easing with the passing moments.

“Don’t worry, Mummy. I’ll make you feel better. I’ll always defend you.”

“I’m certain you will, my little warrior princess.”

And that is all that Lyanna Stark needs to hear, already concocting visions of sweeping across the world, protecting those of all and eating all the ice cream she can.

All is right in her world. The future is far away, dark and big and not worth thinking about. Lyanna is safe and sound, snug in the embrace of her mother. That is all that matters. That is all that counts.

 


End file.
